The Wolf remained seated when Sylvia lunged at him with the kitchen knife. He caught Sylvia's wrist and slammed her hand against the table. Pinning it in place, he sighed deeply, like he had expected this already. It appeared he found her outburst mildly annoying at best.

“What are you doing?”, he asked, much like a parent catching their child with a hand in the cookie jar.

“I will kill you!”, Sylvia spat. She pulled with all her might to free her hand and the weapon still clutched in her fist. Her wrist burned with pain, but she did not care. She was so mad, she thought she might vomit.

“Aha. And why is that then?”, the Wolf wondered in amusement.

“Let go! I will kill you! Let go!”

The beginning of a smirk dropped from the Wolf’s face. Holding Sylvia’s slender wrist in a vice-like grip, he watched the fragile woman struggle. Sylvia fought him with all the energy she could muster, despite the obvious futility of her attempts. Hatred rolled off her in waves.

“Did you loose your family in the raid?”, he asked.

“Let go I said!”, Sylvia barked.

Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Tugging furiously and pounding her free fist against her captor, she was determined to make use of the knife, even as her fingers were slowly growing numb. It came as a great surprise when the Wolf's grip loosened and she regained control. Jumping at the opportunity, she lunged forward, burying the entire length of the edge in his arm. Shocked how easily the knife tore his skin and delved into his flesh to the heel, Sylvia stopped.

Blood pooled around the bolster, gathering where her fingers met the warm skin. The blood stained her fingers and dripped onto the table. Hearing her own heart beat in her ears, Sylvia looked up at the man she had assaulted. She realised in one horrifying glance that she had not overpowered him. He let her hurt him. He just sat there, the light brown eyes focused on her in an expressionless stare. She could just as well have aimed for his throat. She could have killed him.

Sylvia's hand slipped off the handle of the knife and she took a step back. Cupping her hands together over her chest, she was unsure what to do. Her mind was blank. She had been so certain about her objective a moment ago. Now she was disgusted with the depths of her own cruelty. This particular Wolf had not harmed her. He had not raised a hand against her, nor threatened her. He sat defenceless before her. Was she capable of murder?

The Wolf looked down at the knife protruding from his arm, and sighed.

Holding her breath, Sylvia shied back another step. What was he going to do to her now? When the Wolf got up, Sylvia's mind screamed at her to run, but her legs did not follow suit. She stood frozen, like a blinded deer. She did not even blink.

Grabbing the hilt of the knife, the Wolf pulled it back out and then took a kitchen towel, pressing it upon the wound. Watching the cloth tint red, irritation flickered over his face. Finally looking back at Sylvia, he ordered her to clean up, and then dropped the blood stained knife and towel onto the table, before leaving the room.

Falling to her knees, Sylvia took a ragged breath. The metallic smell of blood hung in the air. The red fluid had smeared from her hands onto the apron. She stared at the stain for a long moment. The Wolves killed everyone she knew, yet she could not bring herself to finish off even a single one of them in turn. Tears ran freely from her eyes and her entire body began to shake. Her arms and legs cramped up painfully. Curling together, she cried bitterly. She cried so hard, she could barely breathe. She coughed and gasped for air, snot running over her hands and onto the floor. There was only one thought ringing in her mind as her body convulsed. How much emotional pain did it take to kill a person?

It felt like an eternity before her panic subsided, but eventually she could not cry any more. She just lay on the floor, numb and empty. She was so tried, she almost fell asleep right there on the cold floor. The only thing keeping her awake was the soreness in her muscles, tingling from her legs all the way up to the tips of her fingers. Her head spun and ached. So another eternity passed in perfect silence, only her own breathing echoing in her ears, heavy and strained. A part of her wished that she had simply died today, that she too would have broken a bone, been deemed useless, and been left to bleed out along with her dear Rebecca, along with her family and everyone she knew in this cruel, cursed world. But this was not the case. She was alive, and she knew her parents would turn in their graves if they knew she could think such dark thoughts.

Eventually, the world came back into focus around Sylvia, and she sat up. She found a rag in the cabinets and wiped the tears and snot away. Then, she began cleaning up the blood that had dripped onto the table, and at this point even onto the floor. Taking a small washing basin and filling it with leftover water from her bath, she cleaned the blood out of the kitchen towel, the rag, and the apron, before it had a chance to dry. Lastly, she picked up the knife.

She watched her own distorted reflection dance in the rosé water. Her long hair was tangled and still dirty, despite her bath. She could have attempted to sort it out with her fingers, but with the patches of pulled out hair, it would not make much of a difference. Leaning over the basin, she collected her hair in a firm grip and slid the sharp knife across it, cutting away from herself and watching the long strands fall around her. It was at least slightly better. Most of the damage was removed. She felt refreshed, more so than after the bath. She ruffled a hand through the damp curls.

Sylvia’s head felt much lighter. Not only was the weight of the hair gone. With it, she had shed all of her acute turmoil. What remained now was a dull emptiness. The world around her distanced itself, as though she was no longer a part of it. When she looked at her reflection again, it appeared to her as a stranger. The unfamiliar young woman ran her fingers through her short hair.

Looking around herself, Sylvia saw the mess she had made. Having nothing better to possibly do, she began doing chores again. She cleaned up after her impromptu haircut. She also cleaned her dirty clothes and boots, before disposing of the remaining bathwater. Back in the kitchen, she took a different knife, and cooked a simple soup with potatoes, beans, and some dried herbs for flavour.

Drawn by the smell, the Wolf reappeared. If he was angry with Sylvia, he hid it well. His face as as stoic as before. The only thing that suggested anything had happened at all, was the bandage on his arm. “Is the food ready?”, he asked.

Sylvia nodded. Pouring him a generous bowl, she looked around for a spoon. Opening some drawers, she eventually found a handful of metal spoons and rubbed one down with a cloth, before neatly placing the cutlery down in front of the Wolf. Then, she went to retrieve the bowl. As soon as she had set the hot food down on the table, the Wolf reached out and touched her hair. Sylvia did her best not to shy away. She stood stock still while the rough hand clasped a strain of her hair. Rolling it between the tips of his fingers, the Wolf let his eyes flicker over Sylvia's face and hands.

“You cut it off.”

It was not a question, but Sylvia still found herself nodding in answer.

The Wolf placed his hand atop her head and urged her to turn around. Standing with her back to him, Sylvia could feel her hands shaking. Balling them into fists to stop the involuntarily movement, she drew a measured breath. Giving a huff, the Wolf removed his hand, and she turned back to face him.

“It is uneven.”

Another statement. This time Sylvia did not nod. She stood tense, hoping it did not anger him that she had cut it off. She had made sure to pick up after herself and leave no single hair behind.

Turning his attention to the food instead, the Wolf leaned down and sniffed it. His eyebrows raised a little. He shot Sylvia a glance, before picking his bowl up with both hands. Ignoring the spoon, he brought the soup to his lips and slurped. It reminded Sylvia of the Fri soldiers, the way they would slurp beverage and soup alike, would tear bread and meat with their bare hands.

Licking his lips, the Wolf met Sylvia’s eyes over the rim of the bowl. “Eat”, he urged.

He only continued eating once Sylvia had turned to fetch another bowl. Filling it generously, she sat down at the other end of the large table, as far away from the bandit as possible. Keeping an eye on the Wolf, she began to eat as well, using a spoon. Scooping the larger chunks up, she chewed properly, and always brought her arm back down in the meantime. It was a good five minutes into her meal that she realised just how hungry she truly was. It was her first meal of the day. She had not even thought about it. Helping herself to a second serving, she abandoned the spoon and poured the hot food down her throat, barely bothering to chew the soft chunks. When she set the empty bowl down, she sighed in content. Then she remembered that she was not alone.

The Wolf was watching her from across the table. He did not stop eating, but his eyes were wide and curious. His gaze darted from her face to her hair, down to her hands, and up to her face again.

Sitting up straight, Sylvia folded her hands in her lap politely and waited for him to finish his meal as well.

Once the Wolf set his empty bowl down, Sylvia got to her feet. She put away both their bowls and spoons, rinsed them, and made sure the lid of the cooking pot sat tight, so that the leftovers would not spoil. She dried her hands and hung the kitchen towel beside the rag and apron. Looking around for anything else to busy herself with, she was disappointed to find everything in order. Having no good excuse to avoid it any longer, she finally faced the Wolf again.

The broad Wolf stood and motioned her along the corridor. He showed her into a bedchamber, which lay right across from the beautiful stone bathroom. The room was cosy and warm. The window was clear glass and the bed broad. There was a tall dresser and even a carpet.

“Your room”, the Wolf explained.

When he did not get a verbal response from Sylvia, he merely nodded to himself and turned to leave. Looking after the odd Wolf, Sylvia saw him check the front door, ensuring it was locked, before heading upstairs. Sighing, she closed the door to her new bedchamber. It was far more luxurious than what she had back home, perhaps even outshining Rebecca's room, but it was not home, and thus it was not very comforting at all.

Walking around the room, Sylvia checked the closet, which was empty but for a winter coat. She checked under the bed, which was empty but for a dusty bedpan. Then, she checked the window. She loosened the bolt and it swung open without as much as a suspicious creak. The cool evening air rolled through her hair, bearing the smell of wooden fires and food, but also of manure. Outside lay a stone yard, and beyond it was a small alley, and another large house with moss roofing. A single horse stood under a small shed in the yard, drinking from a wooden troth. It was a meagre looking steed, slender and old, but still strong enough to ride. It was tied to a post by its harness, the bite dangling from one side. At least the saddle had been taken off, and lay on a stump nearby.

Sylvia pulled herself up on the windowsill and dangled her feet out, before slipping into the yard. She looked around and strained her ears, but there was nothing, no movement, no sound. Slowly making her way to the shed, she held her hand out to the horse in greeting. It did not shy away, but it also did not show any interest in her. Cursing that she had not brought a treat from the kitchen, Sylvia came closer still and ran a hand over the neck of the horse. There was no reaction. The steed was decisively bored. Eyeing the heavy saddle, Sylvia wondered if she would be able to heave it up. Probably not. At least not without a step, and there was none in sight. Maybe if she manoeuvred the horse over to the barrel, at the other end of the alley, and stood on that, she could accomplish it. Weighing her options, she realised something else, something far more important. She had nowhere to go.

Even if she managed to saddle the horse and somehow got past the gates, where would she ride to? She had no idea where the next town was, not to mention how far the Wolf territory stretched. In the end, she would want to end up in Fristad, where she could count on protection, but that was days east of Nyberg. She was not even sure if Nyberg was north or south of here, or if she had been taken any stretch west or east. Maybe she could find the mountain if she rode out. She could draw circles around the city at a day’s distance to locate it, but what was to say she would have the energy to zigzag through the forest in such a prolonged search? She had no provisions, no tent or bedroll, and not a coin to her name. Well, she had two coins, in a pair of wet trousers. It was not much to brag about, and she would not be able to buy anything with it without making herself known. How would she even stay warm at night without attracting attention? A fire was not an option. What was to say she would not encounter other Wolves, or that she would survive it if she did?

All the air left Sylvia’s lungs. She pressed her forehead against the side of the warm steed. First then did the horse bother to crane its neck to have a look at the human bothering it this late in the evening. Snorting, the horse made a slow turn and inspected Sylvia’s face before nudging her arm.

“Sorry to disturb you”, Sylvia said, ruffling the short mane.

The long brown ears shifted and the horse nudged her again.

“I should have brought you a treat, should I not?” Stepping back, Sylvia held out her hands, empty palms facing up.

The horse stretched its neck to inspect each hand, making sure there was truly nothing of interest in them. Determining that there was no treat to be found, the brown steed turned back to its water.

“Yea. I am tired too”, Sylvia agreed.

Stroking a hand over the steed’s slender side, she turned back to the house. For a worrying moment, she thought she saw movement in one of the upper floor windows, but as she peered up in the quickly fading light, she saw nothing but curtains. Walking back to the bedroom window, she pulled herself inside.

Getting back in was harder than climbing out, but eventually she managed to pull her upper body inside, after which she merely had to let herself fall to the floor. Hoping she had not made a commotion, she closed the window. She sat down on the bed with a huff. About to draw her feet up, she noticed they were dirty. She sneaked across the hall to wash them, before finally sinking into bed and pulling the thick blanket over herself.

Despite it all, it was easy to fall asleep in the Wolf house. Exhaustion proved to be an efficient tranquilliser.